They Hear You Scream, But They Don't Care
by rockmysocks456
Summary: Dean struggles with insomnia when he's worried about how dangerous his soulless brother is getting. Soulless!Sam can't understand his brother's sudden breakdown. Shitty summary. Soulless!Sam era. One-shot unless I get an idea of a continuation.


_*Set during Soulless!Sam. Take note, I myself was pretty sleep deprived when I wrote this and I don't even really know where the idea came from but here it is. **Read and**_** review.**

* * *

Dean's eyes itched with exhaustion, but he couldn't sleep. Well, at least, he was having a great deal of trouble with it. He wasn't quite like his soulless brother who literally never slept and never needed to.

Dean hadn't slept in three days and he still couldn't. Running on whiskey and ibuprofen for the headache he was so used to now, even his emotionless, asshole brother took notice.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Sam asked as Dean downed a pill with his whiskey, paging through research on his laptop.

"Shouldn't you?" Dean said back, "Oh, right you can't."

Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm just saying, I don't have to sleep but you do, and you look like shit."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

"I mean, I know you have nightmares but what's been keeping you up for three days?"

Maybe he was just sleep deprived and irritable but Dean wanted to slap him for openly mentioning his nightmares. They were all about Hell, Sam in Hell, or himself killing Sam because he went Dexter. And all through that dream all he heard was his bastard father whisper,

_If you can't save him, you'll have to kill him._

"No, not nightmares. Thanks for the concern, cyborg, but I'm fine."

Sam stood up and crossed the room to the table Dean was working at. Dean almost jumped at the awkward, robotic hand that felt Dean's forehead.

"You're running a fever."

"That wasn't creepy or invasive at all."

"There's no use in hunting with you if you're sick."

Dean stared at Sam. He could almost respect that hard logic soulless Sam stood so closely to. He didn't care why Dean wasn't sleeping or even that he wasn't, but he wasn't going to bother hunting with someone who wouldn't be on top of their game.

"I'm okay, okay? I'm not sick."

"You have a fever."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not, I mean, look at you. You look like an alcoholic version of the Russian sleep experiment. If you don't fall asleep tonight, don't think I won't sedate you."

Dean felt part of him freak out. _Don't sedate me, I'm trapped in my nightmares when I'm sedated_, but he couldn't say that. Not to this Sam.

"Just leave it, alright? You don't wanna hunt with me? Fine, but-"

"I have to hunt with you, Dean, soul or no soul, I need the backup and you're the next best hunter out there. The Campbells can't take jobs like we can."

Dean could've laughed had he not felt like it would shake his brain around his skull. The next best hunter. Because killing innocents in his never ending mission against evil didn't downgrade his skill set whatsoever. No, the best hunter can't care about collateral damage.

Dean stood up, trying to use the back of the chair for as little support as he could. Trying to mask his weakness and face off against this overconfident douchebag he called a brother. _No, Sam is in there somewhere, and still a douchebag but not this_. Sweat was seeping from beneath his hairline but he ignored it.

"Alright, enough's enough, okay? You're not Sam, not really. You don't care about me or about anything and fine, whatever, be a Vulcan, that's fine. But you can't honestly believe that killing innocent people is logical, can you?"

"I get the job done-"

"Yeah and what was the objective? I love killing things as much as the next psycho but Sam, it's about saving people. Not just killing things."

"The monsters we kill are killing people."

"_You're_ killing people, Sam!"

The robot seemed to take that hard. Not like it had hurt him, it couldn't, but like he realized something he hadn't thought of before.

Dean wanted to keep the argument going but he started swaying, gripping the chair back to hold himself up. But it tipped over. And so did Dean.

Sprawled across the floor he hadn't passed out, he was just too weak to stand anymore. He wished he'd passed out, he was desperate for sleep. But no physical sensation could keep him from noticing how Sam had let him fall. He didn't rush forward like he would've with a soul. He watched him collapse and then casually crossed the room and crouched next to him.

"Fuck _off_, Sammy." Dean growled into the carpet, trying to push himself up.

"C'mon, get up." Sam said, grabbing Dean's arms gruffly, he pulled him to his feet.

"Son of a bitch..." Dean slurred as the room tilted on its axis, focusing and unfocusing.

"Here." Sam led him to his bed and pushed him onto it.

Dean laid there flat, trying not to slide off with his vision. He was sweating worse now but as hard as he tried, he couldn't sleep. Eyes shut to the light that burned his eyes, trying to think nothing.

"_He said that I had to save you,_," he had said four years ago, "_And that if I couldn't... I'd have to kill you._"

_When Sam went in the Pit_, Dean thought, _I should've gone with him_.

He blinked, staring at the blurred ceiling, not sleeping, just twitching and sweating.

_He was barely human with the demon blood and I didn't kill him then._

Dean twisted at the thought of Sam's mouth smeared with blood. Drinking it from the demon corpse like a wild animal.

"That's it, I'm sedating you." Sam said, and Dean watched as he got something out of his bag.

_Where the hell did he get that_, Dean wondered as Sam filled the tube of his needle with whatever the hell he was about to subdue Dean with.

"Sam, don't..." Dean mumbled, turning away but Sam put a firm hand on his elbow, holding him down.

The tip of the needle spiked through Dean's arm, not so gently, and some wonder drug sent him diving into darkness in a few seconds.

Except that darkness cleared a moment later and there was Sam, blood on his mouth, surrounded by bodies. Some demons, some people. He looked up at Dean with that completely un-Sam smile.

"_I get the job done_." He said.

John was to his right, "_You have to kill him, Dean_."

Dean looked back to Sam. That inhuman dullness in his eyes was blinked away and he was just scared, confused Sammy.

"_It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I got him._"

John was next to Dean now, he handed him his knife, keeping his eyes on Sam.

"_Kill him, Dean._"

"I can still save him-"

"_Did that sound like a request? Kill him, that's an order._"

"You said only if I can't save him!" Dean shouted.

"_You _can't_ save him!_" John bellowed back.

Sam was laughing, soulless again. The bodies were multiplying.

"_This is what I'm going to become. This is what I want to become._"

Dean fought the sedative, desperate to wake up now. But it held stronger than he'd expected.

The knife in Dean's hand was buried in Sam's chest. But he was Sam again.

"No." Dean said as Sam stared at him helplessly, hurt, "No, no, no, no, no. Sam. Sammy?!"

He was drowning in visions of dead Sam after dead Sam. And the images rocked his mind like a nuclear blast, but he couldn't get out. There was just pressure, building, begging to release. Finally the sedative started to loosen its hold.

Dean's mind took the opportunity and he ripped through levels of unconsciousness until he heard himself scream and then stop himself as he sat straight up.

He looked around the room, Sam had only glanced up slightly. He stood up lazily, wandering over toward Dean who just sat still, trying to control his breathing, wiping the sweat from his face.

"You alright?" Sam asked mildly.

Dean stood up, shaking all over. He stood there a foot from Sam.

Sam stood there. Eyes full of a whole lot of nothing.

Dean's hand curled into a fist and shot into Sam's face.

"Ah, fuck-" Sam stumbled back, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. He looked back at Dean, "You satisfied?"

Dean felt another surge of rage rush through him but beating the shit out of Sam would only make him angrier. There's no satisfaction in beating someone who doesn't respond.

Dean shouldered passed him and headed for the door. He stopped next to it. Felt that rage. That seething, violent frustration. And he looked up at the ceiling. God, please fix Sam. No answer.

Dean slammed his head into the wall. Pressed his palms against either side of the wall and hit it again. Dull. Painful. Repetitive. Numbing. Banging. His head. Against. The wall.

"Dean," Sam said, getting closer, "Stop. You're gonna concuss yourself."

Dean didn't listen. Didn't want to.

"Dean."

Blood was mixing with the sweat on his forehead and that was okay. What the fuck did it matter now anyway. He hoped he'd bludgeon himself to death.

Sam was behind him. Pulling him back. Off the wall but Dean used the force of his whole body to bash his head against it.

"Dean!"

He was kind of dizzy, black spots were obscuring parts of his vision. He didn't have the strength to fight Sam anymore and he just fell back to the floor when Sam pushed him there.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Sammy." Dean mumbled as Sam surveyed him carefully, "But for god's sake, if we can't get your soul back, just kill me. I've screwed us both up enough for one lifetime."


End file.
